As I stand near the portal to my residence,
Wind runs her hands belligerently through my hair, hills raise upon my skin-
She raises my attention toward the sky- glooms of white now compete above inland. Men who fish rush in and tie their boats.
'It's almost summer soon' warns June.
This blessed curse,
Like a gift wrapped in linen, pondering, wondering, whether my home will stay this time. I get down and feel the earth with my exposed feet it's beginning to warm.
My tongue traces my rocky dry lips
Maybe it's worth it.
Again I stand-
this time on roof of my former home.
The sky is crying, wreaking havoc
we sing this frightful song together, flooding some spaces,
Every so often we scream, it prevails.
What pains has caused the sky to wail?
Is this worth it?
As I stand in a hill of grass and flowers currling my toes, as comforting as white lies.
The water used for fields in farms and collected and stored in wells
Many's thrist has been quenched in the sky's endeavors.
